Some fiction that I have been writing lately
I went to the bar around 2 pm today. I had done my training early that morning. I did ten sets of squats, hit the heavy bag for 20 minutes, had written 1,000 words and I decided to hit the bar early. I was in one of those “fuck it” moods that I get into once in awhile. I get into those moods and there ain’t nothing that nobody can say or do to get me out of the mood. I can’t even predict when its coming or when it will leave.
Something usually sets me off, I guess. Like today, I was in the convenience store buying some Copenhagen, smiling, holding the door open for everyone, just being Mr.Cordial, and some asshole comes in to the store, all fat and with his belly sticking out under his shirt and he starts treating the clerk like shit and starts to complain about everything; the line is too long, the cashier is too slow, something stupid as hell. And I have to remind myself, I don’t want another assault charge and I know that there is no “let's go into the parking lot and settle this” because people are such pussies these days that they call the cops or they sue you for even touching them, so I just begin to take really deep breaths. I count to myself, one, two, three..... deep breaths to calm me down, I mean really deep breaths. Deep down deep breaths, like I’m fucking hyperventilating because I really want to hurt this guy or at least knock his teeth out and send him home to his wrinkle-faced girlfriend who is on government assistance but she really can work, and thinking about all of this infuriates me even more.
But I make it out of the store without any issues and lots of deep breaths and I head out to the bar. I can relax there. I am not trying to get drunk, just to disappear for a while. Katie, the bartender is nice and leaves me be, but never lets my beer be empty for very long. Nobody messes with Katie. She's in her 50's and has been around and is tough as hell and has seen it all and packs a pistol on her hip.
It is one of those old bars where there aren't a bunch of giggling girls taking selfies. There is Buck in the corner, the Vietnam Vet, playing Keno, and there are a couple of construction workers with their bright neon vests on, drinking Budweiser.
It's so dark in there that it takes a while for the eyes to adjust and when you walk out, the daylight makes you squint hard.
I put Waylon Jennings on the jukebox and the construction workers look at me and raise their long neck beers in acknowledgement of damn good music that they just don't make anymore.
I raise my beer in response and the bartender brings me another beer and says, "This one is on Buck." And Buck turns and raises his glass filled with Crown Royal at me and I raise mine.
I needed this today.